Christmas’d

How many of you are currently decking the halls?  Donning your gay apparel?   Trimming your tree?   Snogging under a mistletoe?   How about freaking out about how the hell you are going to afford presents this year, let alone rent?

It’s that time of the year where we all write letters to a fat man who lives in the frigid north asking him for the material goodies that we can’t afford to buy ourselves.  Then, on that magical night of nights, the fat man, with a white beard, jumps in his magic sleigh – led by 8 magical slave … er … reindeer who can fly (and one who has been snorting WAY too much cocaine for his own good) and travels the entire earth squeezing his fat ass down chimney’s to leave presents for the snot nosed brats of the world.

Yeah,  the 8 year old inside of me is just SCREAMING bullshit.

Now, don’t get me wrong.   I was the kid who told people in school that my mom went to high school with Michael Jackson AND Tiffany.  That there were alligators in my swimming pool and that New Kids on the Block were going to be playing at my 11th birthday party.   I know ALL about how to tell a great story!

I suppose what baffles me about our Christmas traditions is why they differ SO greatly from all other religions.   You don’t see Jewish people waiting for the magic dreidle to pop out of the toilet and drop candy for all the boys and girls.  No, their traditions are much more sensible with lighting a candle for each night the oil burned and kept people alive.

My mothers favorite holiday was Christmas.   She would literally shop for us all year long and keep the gifts hidden in the sewing room closet (yea, you KNOW I found that stash back in middle school).   The tradition each Christmas was to decorate the tree about 3 days prior to the 25th.  Dad would hang the lights and then my sister and I would have a brawl over who was going to hang the sparkly, prettiest decorations.   Then on Christmas Eve, we would go to church (where my sister and I would sing duets) and then come home and drink hot chocolate and read Twas the Night.   VERY vivid and wonderful memories.

But the adult inside of be cries at all of the lies we have to believe in order for us to be happy.   I think it’s a WONDERFUL story that Santa Claus – despite his obvious addiction to milk and cookies which can only lead to high blood pressure and diabetes – is a loving and friendly man who loves to give gifts.    I’m sure that’s the point.   However,   what is our facination with having to  tell this elaborate story that makes absolutely no sense?!   Why couldn’t we have just had a holiday where we show our appreciation for one another by buying gifts and celebrating the ones we love?

Of course, in the end, I will spend loads of money on the people who I cherish.   I will deck the halls, sing the carols, wear the gaudy sweater, make the tofurky and party like it’s 1999.  So,  whether the fat man can squeeze down your chimney, whether your magic dreidle gets stuck in the plumbing, whether the soul bursts from your solstice or your candles light your kwanzaa evening on fire -

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Beyond all of the stories and traditions is a wonderful time of year to appreciate the past, present and future and to take a moment to breath and remember to live every day to your fullest potential and be ecstatic that you have surrounded yourself with amazing people.

May your days be filled with adventure and excitement and your nights be stuffed with joy and tranquility!